


The Unfortunately Requisite Trashy Victorian Drama

by Anidorikildra



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9361739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anidorikildra/pseuds/Anidorikildra
Summary: It's a play about a woman in Victorian England straight up garroting rapists. And the police chief trying to get her arrested. It's garbage. It says so in the title.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is discussion of rape in here. Also, since it is set in the Victorian era, some characters do some shitty victim-blaming. This is bad. I know that. Please suspend your disbelief. I am always open to criticism, as long as it is constructive.

Character List  
Detective Dobbins-a diminutive, ginger-haired young man of about nineteen years. He has a slight Scottish brogue.  
Detective Inspector Jameson-a tall, imposing man of about twenty-five to thirty years. He possesses a square jaw and squared shoulders. His posture is aggressively correct.  
Miss Maisie Beauregard-a close friend and confidante of Viola, she shares similar social standing with her friend. Maisie is a tiny creature with very blonde hair.  
Miss Viola Ashworth-a dark-haired young woman of twenty to twenty five years. Viola is the heiress to a large fortune after the death of her parents a number of years ago. She is lithe and graceful, like a dancer.  
Mister Aimery-a piece of trash more worthless than the garbage you are about to read or watch.

Setting  
1898 Victorian London

 

 

(The curtains open on a darkened alley in a destitute neighborhood. Lights and sound give the impression of a heavy downpour. Two men in overcoats stand over the body of a third. One holds a lamp to see better. When the man with the lamp bends over the corpse, the audience can see that a gleaming black feather rests on the fallen man’s chest.)

DOBBINS: This is the twelfth this month sir, and it’s only the fifteenth.

JAMESON: (with the air of one who has heard this several times) I know, Dobbins. Strangely, I am familiar with the details of my own cases.

DOBBINS: (chastised) yes, but sir, it’s not the norm, is it? 

JAMESON: No, Dobbins. Not at all. This looks like the work of a serial killer, and there hasn’t been a prevalent serial killer here since…

DOBBINS: (whispers fearfully) Jack the Ripper.

(Curtains close then open again to a cluttered police office. A desk covered with files stands to the side. On the wall, there is a corkboard covered with sketches of different men. JAMESON is alone, gazing at the board. DOBBINS bursts in.)

DOBBINS: They’re rapists!

JAMESON: Dobbins, we work in homicide.

DOBBINS: (breathless and blurting) No, no, the victims, of the Blackbird? They’re rapists! We were looking for a common factor, yeah? Because serial killers usually look for a specific type of victims? Jack the Ripper, round Whitechapel, ‘bout ten years ago, went for prostitutes in East End slums. But there wasn’t anything in common ‘tween Blackbird’s. ‘Cept for the feather left on the chests, but that’s the Blackbird’s work, nothing to do with them. But Hale in the Criminal Investigation Department, recognized two of the bodies in the morgue. Names’re Hawkings and Bilgeby. He got two different calls last week, yeah? From a couple of women ‘round Knightsbridge. Said they got drugged and raped. Called the police. But no defensive wounds, so they got sent home. Day after each call, both blokes are found dead. By us. In places they’ve got no reason to be.

JAMESON: What do you mean, exactly, by “places they have no reason to be”?

DOBBINS: They’re both Knightsbridge! Got no reason to be down at the docks, were actually supposed to be at a party! You know, the kind of splurge the rich folk throw all the time to remind people how rich they are!

JAMESON: Who was the host of this party?

DOBBINS: (coughs uncomfortably) Hostess.

(Curtains close then open again to a grand ballroom. Guests whirl about the floor in lovely, pastel gowns or elegant suits with tails. In the center of the dancers is one particularly beautiful pair. The woman, VIOLA, wears a rose colored gown and pearls in her hair. She is visibly flirting with her dance partner. A blonde, MAISIE, who is resplendent in blue, watches from the edge of the room, smiling at VIOLA. JAMESON and DOBBINS edge into the room, visibly uncomfortable with the excess. VIOLA spots them and sashays over, stopping to pick up a glass of champagne.)

VIOLA: (Guileless) Is there anything I can do to help you gentleman?

JAMESON: (Visibly disdainful) I am Detective Inspector Jameson and this is Detective Dobbins. I am sorry to interrupt the festivities madam, but I have a few questions regarding a current ongoing investigation. Could you point me in the direction of the owner of this home?

VIOLA: Why, that would be me. What would you like to know?

JAMESON: (Looks around the room, re-straightens his shoulders) Perhaps someplace more private?

VIOLA: Why, Detective Inspector, I thought you were on the clock? (DOBBINS splutters, JAMESON is frustrated)

JAMESON: To ask the questions.

VIOLA: Ah, yes, of course. This way. 

(Curtains close then open again to the office. DOBBINS and JAMESON are present onstage.)

DOBBINS: So, I’ll just be the one to say it, yeah? That was a waste of time.

JAMESON:(contemplatively) I’m not sure it was, Dobbins. She didn’t look very surprised at the the news her party guests had been killed. It was almost like she knew why they would be wanted dead.

DOBBINS: Well, she’s friends with their wives, isn’t she? And them, I suppose, if she’s inviting them ‘round for dancing. It’s not that odd if she’s got some idea of what...happened.

JAMESON: (Absently)Are you referring to the murders or the rapes, Dobbins? Oh. Oh. If Miss Ashworth were aware of her friends’...indiscretions and she took issue with them, she might have...taken action.

DOBBINS: Are you suggesting that Miss Ashworth, the five foot debutante we just talked to, is the Blackbird?

JAMESON: (mildly) She’s five foot six at least, Dobbins. Also, I’m suggesting that she had something to do with the deaths of those two men, not necessarily that she is the Blackbird.

DOBBINS: But the medical examiner confirmed it, sir. All of the victims were definitely killed by the same weapon and same person, about six feet tall. 

JAMESON: Oh, then I guess I am suggesting she’s the Blackbird. And as for the height difference, there is this marvelous new fashion, Dobbins. They're called heels.

DOBBINS: Miss Ashworth being friends with the wives isn't exactly hard evidence, sir. It's barely a motive. 

JAMESON: True. But Miss Ashworth is the best lead we currently have. Even if she isn't the Blackbird, she may have an idea who is.

(Curtains close then open again to VIOLA’s house, the next morning. The ballroom has been shifted into a sitting area, with a few squashy chairs , a couch, and a chaise lounge. VIOLA is reading on the chaise lounge with her feet up. She is wearing heels. The bell rings. She looks up and smirks. She casually strolls to the door and opens it. JAMESON and DOBBINS stand at the door.)

VIOLA: Gentlemen! Was there something else you needed assistance with? 

JAMESON: (resolving to seem unperturbed) We have a few more questions about the night of the fifteenth. 

VIOLA: Oh, did I not satisfy you in some way? 

(DOBBINS looks scandalized and moves forward to rebuke her. JAMESON places his hand on DOBBIN’s chest, to hold him back.)

JAMESON: Would you be willing to come down to the police station with us, madam? I would like to do this in a more professional setting.

VIOLA: Really? I would have pegged you as one not to mix work and pleasure. 

JAMESON: Madam, please. Things would go much better for you if you cooperated.

VIOLA:When did I ever say I would not cooperate? I think, you would find me quite biddable under the right circumstances, Detective Inspector. Let me just grab my bag.

(Curtains close then open again to the police station. VIOLA is sitting across the desk from JAMESON. DOBBINS sits in a chair next to JAMES.)

VIOLA: So, I am now a suspect in the murders of my friends?

DOBBINS: Well, no, not exactly...Just you’ve been acting suspiciously you know? And we’ve been having trouble...

JAMESON: (holds up hand to silence DOBBINS) I am asking you if you have an alibi for the following nights. (slides a piece of paper across the desk to her)

VIOLA: Well, the fifteenth is easy, I was hosting the party my friends were supposed to be attending. Some of the others...Well, I’m not sure I would like to say. (Mischievously) My virtue would be cast into doubt and what that would do to my marriage prospects…

JAMESON:(wryly) Was the status of your virtue ever in doubt, Miss Ashworth? I would find it hard to believe that anyone still wondered about its integrity.

(DOBBINS looks to be in a state of shock)

VIOLA: I do not converse with all individuals as I do you, Detective Inspector. Consider yourself special.

JAMESON: (Dryly)Do you like me for my charming personality, Miss Ashworth, or is it just my uniform?

VIOLA: Oh, it’s Viola, please. I like to keep things intimate between friends.

JAMESON: I like to keep things professional between police officers and murder suspects. Now, onto business. Would you please provide your alibis for the nights on that piece of paper, as well as you can, so this matter can be straightened out?

VIOLA: When you say straightened out…

JAMESON: I mean, Miss Ashworth, that either you go home and I continue searching for a serial killer, or you go into a cell and I get to go home.

VIOLA: Well, the night of the twenty-ninth of last month, I was joining an artist friend of mine for dinner. Afterwards, this friend of mine took me to his home to see his etchings, if you will.(DOBBINS is furiously scribbling this down) The thirty-first I was meeting my friend Maisie at her home for drinks. I was feeling tipsy when the night was through and felt wary about calling a cabbie at that time of night, there are dangerous fellows about you know, and so I stayed the night in her home. On the night of the first I was attending a gala at…

JAMESON: (interrupting) Miss Ashworth, at this point in the proceedings you have failed to give me useful names and contact information to confirm your claims about your whereabouts on the nights of the Blackbird murders. Would you care to do so as you lovingly detail your social calendar?

VIOLA: Why, certainly Detective Inspector. You need only ask, I will do my best to please.

(She begins to talk again, occasionally using her hands for emphasis, as curtains close on the scene. Open onto VIOLA drinking tea on a couch, feet tucked up, wearing a nightgown with MAISIE, similarly attired, also on the couch. The two face each other and are in deep conversation.)

MAISIE:And they just let you go? With your embarrassingly pathetic alibis? 

VIOLA: They had to. I have no visible connection with any of the victims, excluding Hawkings and Bilgeby, the brutes, and no motive to kill any of them.

MAISIE: No connection, besides the fact you strangled them to death. And no motive, besides the fact they were rapists.

VIOLA: (airily) Oh, details. And it is not as if the police know those things.

MAISIE: Oh, Vi. Don’t play dumb. Any entry-level medical examiner would be able to tell those men were strangled, and those twits Lady Hawkings and Lady Bilgeby actually called the police on their husbands. It isn’t that hard to string those things together.

VIOLA: Yes, I really don’t know what they expected to get out of reporting it, besides a pair of ruined reputations. Poor doves.

MAISIE: Vi, focus. You need to get a better cover. Deflect the blame. Something.

VIOLA: Or... I could make a friend?

MAISIE:Care to elaborate? Or are we feeling enigmatic today?

VIOLA: As you say, I do not have a decent alibi for most of the nights I went Blackbirding. 

MAISIE: Very poor planning, that.

VIOLA: I thought it would take longer for the police to process the idea of a lady murderer. Anyway, there is no way I get away free from this, the police will turn up new evidence sooner or later; we all know I’m hardly going to stop garroting monsters in alleys. But, if I managed to sway a police officer to my side, then…

MAISIE: And how do you plan to do that? Flash Detective Dobbins and promise him he can deflower you if he lets you off a murder charge?

VIOLA: Oh, Maisie, don’t be silly. Detective Dobbins is not nearly powerful enough to get me off a murder charge. Even more, if he still thinks I have my flower, he does not deserve his position anyway. No, I was thinking of making nice with Detective Inspector Jameson. 

MAISIE: And how do you do that without confessing to killing sixteen men? I was joking about flashing, you know that, right? Showing the Detective Inspector your breasts won’t get you anything, no matter how spectacular your decolletage is.

VIOLA: Oh, I know. I have another idea. And thank you, by the way. Your breasts are lovely too.

MAISIE: Thanks, dear.

(VIOLA leans her head on MAISIE’s shoulder. )

(Curtains close then open again to the police office. VIOLA bustles in, dressed to the nines, as per usual. Some nameless police officers milling around stop and gape. VIOLA pays them no mind. She sits in the chair opposite JAMESON who is watching this occur with bemusement. VIOLA sits as it were her own desk. )

JAMESON: How may I help you, Miss Ashworth? I hope you did not come here solely to distract my employees?

VIOLA:However would I be considered distracting, Detective Inspector?

JAMESON: (Eyes her chest and dress meaningfully) Take a guess, Miss Ashworth. I am sure you can puzzle it out. 

VIOLA: Oh, I thought puzzles were your job, Detective Inspector. But I would, of course, be willing to switch positions, as long as you are amenable. 

(DOBBINS spits coffee on himself. VIOLA and JAMESON smirk at each other. JAMESON catches himself and goes stern.)

VIOLA: However, I did come here to discuss something with you. In confidence.

(JAMESON catches her unusual seriousness and shoos the police officers from his office. DOBBINS pauses.)

DOBBINS: Sir, are you quite sure? Is it a good idea to-

JAMESON: I am sure, Dobbins. You are dismissed. (DOBBINS bows his head at the rebuke. He is visibly angry. He leaves. )

JAMESON: What private matter could you have to discuss with me, Miss Ashworth? Unless you have come here to confess to the Blackbird murders, I really do not know-

VIOLA: Do you ever feel unhappy with your job, Detective Inspector? As if it is not enough?

JAMESON: My job is everything, Miss Ashworth. (Looks at her sharply) I consider myself married to it.

VIOLA: Oh, honestly, Detective! I am not actually trying to proposition you right now! I am asking you a question about your job. And its limits. 

JAMESON: These limits being?

VIOLA: When I was in your office yesterday, I spied something on your desk. A file about a man who killed eight children, but was not convicted, due to a technicality.  
JAMESON: I really must get a better filing system, if murder suspects can so easily go through my things.

VIOLA: Detective Inspector, please be serious. A child killer. Free. Doesn’t it make you furious? Doesn’t it make you want to do more?

JAMESON: I cannot take the law into my own hands, Miss Ashworth. Unlike you, I have respect for the system.

VIOLA: (standing) Do you now? Then why did you have the file in the first place? The man was released. It is out of your hands now, until another little corpse shows up. Yet you had the file. From what I saw, there was an obsessive amount of notes in it. Would you care to share why?

JAMESON: Those notes, Miss Ashworth, are from the preliminary investigation, when the collection of evidence was vital. They are no longer relevant.

VIOLA: You are lying. 

JAMESON: What tells you that, Miss Ashworth?

VIOLA sits back down.

VIOLA: You do. When I came into your office yesterday, the ink on your quill was precisely the same color as that of the notes scribbled all over the case report and the same color of the ink that was smudged on the fingers of your right hand when you arrived at my home yesterday morning. So I conclude that you either stayed all night at your office or you arrived very early in the morning yesterday, pored over that redundant file for a child murderer, and then, feeling unbelievably useless, went to confront a suspect you felt you could do something about, namely, me. 

JAMESON: That is quite a leap to make, Miss Ashworth. 

VIOLA: It’s only a leap if it’s preposterous, Detective Inspector. And I can tell from the look on your face that I am correct.

JAMESON:(faces her more fully) So let’s say that you are correct, Miss Ashworth. Why on Earth would it matter to you, and what relevance does it have to your case?

VIOLA: It matters to me because you underlined the killer’s address three times. I saw. It is relevant to to my case because the officer investigating me is planning on going into a man’s house and killing him in cold blood. You can sound as superior as you like, Detective Inspector, but you have no more respect for the system than anyone else. So I propose a deal.

JAMESON:Oh? What deal do you have that could possibly interest me? Keep in mind that anything you say to implicate yourself in the Blackbird murders in this office will be taken as a confession.

VIOLA: Well, let’s get out of this office then, and head somewhere a bit more comfortable. (She stands and moves to towards the door. Then VIOLA stops and looks over her shoulder at him) You really do need a better filing system, though. 

(JAMESON rolls his eyes then grabs his briefcase, standing. The curtains close. When they open, it is to VIOLA’s house. VIOLA and JAMESON walk through the front door. JAMESON sits in a chair and VIOLA kicks off her heels, sitting with her legs tucked up on the couch.)

VIOLA: Don’t think that I missed you implying that I could implicate myself outside your office without consequences.

JAMESON: I had hoped you didn’t miss it. I only went along with your suggestion to go somewhere more “comfortable” because I had my fingers crossed you would not...take advantage… of that more comfortable setting.

VIOLA: Rest assured, if I intended to...take advantage...as you say, Detective Inspector, we would be in my bedroom by now. Now, let us be frank with one another. I would, however, prefer if you went first, as I have substantially more to lose in this arrangement.

JAMESON:That is fair, I suppose. Alright. I have considered killing the man, as you surmised. I have also been somewhat freer with my definition of what justifies using my gun than other police officers. Nothing that would get me in trouble, as it is most often when I am alone, with no other officers to contradict me later when I say that it was necessary to shoot.

VIOLA: Are you being deliberately vague? Elaborate. 

JAMESON: There was a man about two years ago. His name was Thomas Ryers. He lived on Bethnal Green, and noise complaints kept being called in about him. They said it sounded like a kid, maybe more than one. But by the time we got there, it was always as quiet as Bethnal Green ever gets and there was never any children. Maybe a few months after this started, with noise complaints at least once a week, I came by and there was screaming coming from inside, so I came into the house itself for the first time. His daughters had been beaten to within an inch of their lives and looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. They weren’t even conscious. When Ryers saw me, he raised the poker and I shot him twice in the chest. I could have disarmed him easily, but I didn’t. I could have rendered his unconscious, but I didn’t. I called the police station so they would come pick up the girls and the body. Then before they got there, I gave myself a few bruises with the poker so I would have a decent argument for having no choice but to kill him. I’ve done something similar three times in the time since.

(VIOLA studies him for a long minute, then decides he is telling the truth.)

VIOLA: You know most of what I have done, or you have guessed. In the interest of full disclosure however, and to correct the erroneous assumptions your police force have undoubtedly made, I do not only kill rapists. (JAMESON waves her to continue.) I have also killed four wife-batterers and a rather unpleasant gentleman, who, while not a rapist per se, didn’t even let his hands wander, but sent them on lengthy strolls.

JAMESON: Why did the Blackbird not mark those victims with a feather as well? And how did you know that all the men were rapists?

VIOLA: It would be less confusing to answer those questions in reverse. I learned of Bilgeby’s activities first. His wife was not the only one who told him no; a closer friend of mine did as well, first. She knew there was no point in reporting it, but wanted someone to confide in, so she told me. While I dithered about what to do about it, I discovered through not a small amount of eavesdropping that most of Bilgeby’s friends were doing the same as him. As I discovered their identities and the extent of what they were doing, I realized I had to take action. So I paid a discreet jeweler to melt one of my necklaces into a garrote and went to work. The feathers were a warning. Showy killings like that would get in the papers. I wanted Bilgeby and his friends to know I was coming for them. If I marked others in the same way, it would confuse. It might have made them think I was killing at random, not working down a specific list. 

JAMESON: (is quiet for a moment) I don’t suppose I get to know who this friend of yours is?

VIOLA: Maybe one day. You have to earn it first.

JAMESON: Where do we go from here?

VIOLA: (hopefully) You let me get away with murder?  
JAMESON: I can’t just let you off with a warning, Miss Ashworth. You didn’t get caught for drunk and disorderly, you killed a lot of people. Even if I ignore your confession, (VIOLA moves as if to interrupt and JAMESON holds up a hand to keep her quiet) which I plan to do, you are the foremost suspect and you do not have an alibi that would save you from prison or hanging. The rest of the force will act, even if I do not. 

VIOLA: Oh, call me Viola, Detective Inspector. We have confessed our sordid criminal pasts to each other. What is the point of remaining so formal? 

JAMESON: In that case, you may call me Detective. 

(VIOLA smirks and then is silent for a moment)

VIOLA: What if someone with a believable motive and means confessed? If that could be arranged, then the police would be forced to drop their charges against me, would they not?

JAMESON: And where could such a convenient scapegoat be found?

VIOLA: I still have one more man on my list. He was a close friend of Bilgeby’s. A Mister Aimery.

(They are quiet for a few moments. They are both very deep in thought. JAMESON breaks the silence)

JAMESON: If we are going to proceed with this… “arrangement” then you cannot kill people so showily anymore. Serial killers attract attention. If we become vigilantes, we have to be smart about it.

VIOLA: Oh, you are no fun at all. I knew this was a mistake.

JAMESON: You think you are talented killer? I kill freely and I am one of the most respected men in the city. To many at the station, I am above reproach. If this is going to work, you will need to learn to assassinate people subtly.

VIOLA: I have an idea with how to start just what you suggested. But first, we have to clear my name.

JAMESON: I suppose you have a plan for that as well?

VIOLA: I always have a plan, Detective. How else do you think I became the most successful and prolific serial killer in the history of Britain?

JAMESON: You were caught within a matter of weeks. I dread to think what fool plot you want us to carry out now.

(Curtains close then open to the alley in which the play began. Lighting indicates that it is now night. VIOLA and JAMESON are dressed in dark colors and have their faces covered. MISTER AIMERY lays on the ground. He is blindfolded. His hands and feet are tied.)

JAMESON: How much chloroform did you give him? You didn’t give him an overdose, did you?

VIOLA: (bent on the ground next to MISTER AIMERY. She checks his breathing on the blade of her axe) You’ve seen my victims. You should know by now that I am an expert at what I do. He’ll be waking up any second. 

(On cue, MISTER AIMERY sits up, gasping)

JAMESON:(with his voice pitched lower to disguise it) So glad you could join us, sir. 

MISTER AIMERY: What’s going on? Where am I? I demand-

VIOLA:(her voice disguised as well) Ah, pet. You aren’t really in a position to demand anything anymore are you? You have demanded things that were not yours too many times now. Look where it has gotten you. Look where it got your friends. You read the papers. They died relatively quickly, but relatively quickly can be very slow when you can feel your larynx being crushed, when every part of you is burning for air…

JAMESON:You’re frightening the poor man. I assure you we will not use a garrote on you, sir.

MISTER AIMERY: You will not?

JAMESON: No. If you die tonight, it will be because the axe my associate is holding has severed your hands and feet and you have bled out. Messier. But much more unique, I assure you.

MISTER AIMERY: You are lying! Release me at once, you vile bastards, you sham mongrels. I will have you arrested, I will have you hanged, your bodies will be carrion. Your bodies will rot, still dangling from your nooses!

VIOLA: Somehow, I do not think he found that reassuring. But kudos to you, Mister Aimery, for creative insults. I cannot tell you how many of your friends just went to the "stupid whore" place.

(VIOLA slides the blade of her axe along MISTER AIMERY’s tied hand, opening a shallow cut.) We are not lying. You know we are not lying. But, you will notice, Aimery, that my colleague said “if.” If you play your cards right, you may yet survive the night. You just have to follow the our instructions. Can you do that? 

(MISTER AIMERY gives a shaky nod.)

VIOLA:I would prefer a verbal response, if you please.

MISTER AIMERY: I can follow your instructions.

VIOLA: That’s wonderful, pet. Now, here is what you will do. Tomorrow morning, you will walk into the police station. You will confess to all of the Blackbird murders. You will tell the police that you killed your friends because they threatened to expose your dirty little habits. When the police ask you details about the deaths, you will give them details. I know you can do that. You’ve been following the Blackbird murders obsessively, have you not? And you will tell the police the one thing that did not get into the papers, so they will know you are the killer.

MISTER AIMERY: What’s that? What did you do?

VIOLA: You will tell the police that Bilgeby had four stab wounds through his lower back. The garroting did not kill him, those stab wounds did. He deserved a slower death. Tell the police that.

MISTER AIMERY: You rotten bitch. You whorish cunt. I’ll kill you.

VIOLA: Oh, Mister Aimery. I was so enjoying your original profanity. 

JAMESON: Watch your language, Aimery. We are currently inclined to let you live, but we would have no trouble cutting out your tongue.

MISTER AIMERY: No, you wouldn’t. You need me to confess.

JAMESON: You received an Oxford education, Aimery. I am sure you would be capable of writing out your confession. And if anyone asks why you are missing parts, we can make you say that one of your victims fought back harder than you were expecting.

VIOLA: So, pet. Have you made your decision?

(Curtains close then open to the police office the next morning. DOBBINS rushes into JAMESON’s office, where JAMESON is writing at his desk. )

JAMESON: What is it now, Dobbins? Have you lost your torch again?

DOBBINS:(pats his flashlight at his belt, as if to check that it is still there.) No, sir! The Blackbird? He’s confessed! Came in a minute ago, sat right down in front of Officer Prewitt and started rattling off dates and times and everything. He even knows about the stabbings, sir. It’s not Miss Ashworth at all. It’s him!

JAMESON:(standing) Well, I do hope that we got his name and confession recorded.

DOBBINS:(shadowing JAMESON as he strides for the door) Yes, sir! We got them, it’s all handled. (The two exit.)

(Curtains close then open to VIOLA’s house. VIOLA and MAISIE sit with their legs intertangled on the couch. JAMESON sits in an adjoining chair. VIOLA and JAMESON hold glasses of Scotch, a decanter of which sits on an end table between their seats. MAISIE sips from a glass of wine, a bottle of which is also on the end table, mostly full.)

JAMESON: A prostitute came to the station the other night. She was brutalized.

VIOLA: British common law has stated since 1769 that a prostitute can be raped if she has not consented to the act.

JAMESON: Sadly, I am unsurprised you know that. However, even though common law recognizes that, not all police officers do. Her case file has been misplaced.

VIOLA: Destroyed, you mean.

JAMESON:Almost certainly.

MAISIE: (Sighs) Why is everyone terrible? (She takes a gulp of wine and pours herself more. VIOLA pats her shoulder)

VIOLA: Did the victim recognize her attacker?

JAMESON: Yes, actually. He was a repeat customer of hers, a Mr. Greggory Hastings. (VIOLA and MAISIE make faces at the name) Do you know him?

MAISIE: Oh, yes, Greggie. He was my partner in dance classes when we were younger. He never figured out where my waist was. Or how to keep his hands there. (VIOLA looks murderous and grips MAISIE’s free hand)

VIOLA: I have been known to go riding with his poor wife in the country on occasion. Greggory joins us once in awhile. (a long pause, then continuing, as if the information is inconsequential and shared casually) You know, his horse is quite easily startled.

JAMESON: (voice heavy with irony) Is that so? 

(MAISIE smiles and takes a sip of wine. VIOLA and JAMESON clink glasses together and take a drink. )

(A white curtain closes in front of the trio. Project image in silhouette on the white curtain of a portly man being thrown from his horse. His body lays broken in the street. He is very obviously dead. A pair of figures walk casually away as onlookers rush to help. They are paid no mind. Curtains close and the play ends.)


End file.
